


The eigth kingdom

by Wassersaeufer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, DCU
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wassersaeufer/pseuds/Wassersaeufer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They had withstood the conquest longer than anyone else bar the Dornish. They had thrown back Ironborn raiders, Westerland armies and Reach knights, until they were defeated by dragonfire. Never trust the people from Darkcliff, because they are a secretive, unruly and stubborn lot." - Tywin Lannister</p><p>A fusion between "A song of Ice and Fire" and the "DC-Universe", with the DC-Cast living in Westeros. Short stories, single scenes and perhaps even a storyline. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lord Bruce Wayne

**Author's Note:**

> The Lord Paramount of Darkcliff and a trusted friend arrive to talk with newly proclaimed King Robb Stark about the war, the future and alliances.

He had come personally. He could have send an envoy, no one would have thought less of him, but he had come in person and brought with him his feared knights, skilled archers and great scouts. How they had managed to move this far north without being attacked by either Lannister of Tyrell forces would most likely always remain a secret, they were known for keeping to themselves and keeping their secrets even closer.

The first impression Robb got was that even if the man stepping into the tent was not as big as the Greatjon, he was nearly as intimidating. He had never seen the sigil on the mans coat of arms, a red and yellow rune on a blue field, but he was sure that he would never forget the mans face. A strong, good one, one promising victory and justice and that everything would be well. Of course Robb tore his gaze away from the man and to the real guest of honor, nodding into the direction of the man as he followed his companion into the tent.

"Lord Wayne, a pleasant surprise."

Other than the big man in blue, Lord Bruce Wayne, Lord Paramount of Darkcliff, was not smiling. Clad in black and grey armor emblazed with the sigil of his house, a fearsome bat, the dark haired man with the sharp, harsh features was a sight to behold. His mouth was a grim line, his eyes dark and piercing, his whole appearance threatening.

"Your grace."

Ah yes, being declared King. Robb could not yet get used to it, but he would have too. Even though it had just happened two days ago, Lord Wayne was already using the titel with ease, not tripping over the unfamiliar sound like most others did. At least when speaking to or about Robb Stark, first of his name, King in the North.

Servants brought refreshments and food, introductions were made and pleasant small talk was made, then they already got down to business. Ser Clark Kent, the well build man in blue, was the leader of Lord Wayne's personal guard, but he seemed more of a friend to the Batlord, or as some people still called him, the Batman. Robb got the impression that even though he was only a knight, the opinion of Ser Clark was highly valued.

He had of course known that things are different in Darkcliff, as different from the rest of the Kingdom as it is in Dorne, but he did not thought he could ever get used to the idea of marrying for love and personal choice, setting skill above birth and heritae. There were bastards in Lord Wayne's personal guard and he was rumoured to have a network of spys rivaling that of Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers in court. Still...

"We wish to forge an alliance in this war with the North and the Riverlands." There, Wayne had said it, the reason for him and five hundred of his men to be here.

"... Though I thank you, I wish to learn your reasons for this step", the young wolf answered. Under the table Grey Wolf stirred, even though the wolf was getting to big to lay under such furniture. Soon he would have to be consent with laying next to it. "Why do you wish to join a war that is not yours?"

"It is ours", answered Ser Clark and though it was not proper for him to speak, Wayne only let him talk, not even giving him a sidelong glance. "It is true that it is not our fields burned and our people killed, but good, innocent people are dying. In Robert's Rebellion my Lord and his men had fought on the side of your father, helping dethroning the tyrants. In the Greyjoy Rebellion we have fought against the Ironborn along the good men from the Riverlands and the North. Now again friends and allies are in dire need, so here we are, to stand at your side."

"Indeed", commented Bruce Wayne with a grim smile. "And we'd also like to have back our indipence from the Iron Throne." That was not surprising, the lands of Darkcliff have always been treated like an unwanted stepchild by the Targaryen-Kings and even under Robert Baratheon they had felt like they were treated unfairly. To be honest, most lords of Darkcliff had fought on the side of the Rebellion against the loyalists and in turn got nothing out of it. No wonder most of them had never held the king in high regards.

"So you will declare yourself King of Darkcliff?", asked one of the northern lords.

"No." The face of Bruce could have been carved from stone, there was no expression nor a hint for any emotions. "The lords of Darkcliff will elect a King, like our ancestors have done before the conquest."


	2. Oliver Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Reach tries to invade Darkcliff, they had to face the first line of defense, the feared bowmen of house Queen.

It was far into the war of the five kings that the King finally decided, or to be more precise his Hand had said so, to put down the rebellion of Darkcliff. As the peninsula bordered on the Reach and the Westerlands and an attack from the sea was difficult at the best of times, a mighty force was send out to make way into the lands of Darkcliff, capture Gotham and the other most important strongholds and put down these troublesome lords and ladies once and for all. Led by Randyll Tarly, an accomplished commander and called the best soldier in the realm, the mighty host set out from Highgarden.

The contingent of knights making their way through the thick forest were miserable and grumpy. No one could blame them for that, as they were wet to the bone, tired and hungry for a fight. They were young and eager for glory and honor, led by an experienced man who had fought in both Robert's Rebellion as well as the Greyjoy Uprising and was now tasked with leading this vanguard through the tick forest that was the border between the Reach and Darkcliff. And he hated it already.

There was no clear path to follow, only small trails, and it was extremely challenging to get a force of two hundred knights, camp followers, squires and supply wagons through here. Add to this that it was raining for days and they had so far not even seen one of the famed border guards they had been warned of, and you have a rather grumpy group of men who are just itching for a fight.

-

Oliver Queen, he hated it when he was called "Lord Queen" because not only sounded it idiotic, it also always reminded him of his father, was having a rather good day. The rain was not bothering him in the least, his thick wool hood was taking care of the water, and he had spend a pleasant day with his betrothed. Why would he be in a bad mood? Only because about two hundred reach knights were making their way through his lands and thus his responsibility to deal with? No, something like that would not darken his mood.

Not many would think of him as the Lord he is when they saw him, cause most of the time he did not look like it. His dirty blonde hair was most of the time actually dirty because of the time he spend in the woods or with training, his clothing was practical and light to travel, he only felt the need to wear lordly clothing when he was meeting other nobles. And that was seldom happening.  
He also always had this aura of boldness around him, this daring smile and a twinkle in his eyes that made people think he was a boy still and not a man grown.

That was, he knew, one of the reasons his betrothed loved him. As he sat in the tree branch and watched the men and horses struggling through the undrebrush, he could not help himself but to think of her. A fond smile stole it's way to his face, he was not fighting it, as he recalled the day he had first seen her. A mercenary woman, a bastard girl from the Iron Islands with honey blonde hair, fighting off drunkards in a tavern in Gotham and hitting him in the face with a tankard of ale.

His subjects had reacted with disbelieve and horror when he had made advances towards her and she herself had been a bit confused by this. People had told him not to make her his Lady wife, to marry a proper born Lady and keep her as a paramour, but in the end his stubborness, and her wild lovliness, had won out. Though she was by now more or less acting as Lady of the keep, she spend more time beating up recruits and guards in the training grounds than with things "proper" for a Lady. And he would not have it any other way.

"Look for a campsite. Let's get out of this rain."

The command of the leading knight, a bulky fellow in the colours of house Beesbury, pulled Oli back from his toughts into the presence and he nearly chuckled. Finding a suitable campsite for this mass of men and beasts of burden in this forest? Good luck with that.

The poor sobs had no idea what they were into. They should have learned from history, it was not the first try to attack Darkcliff through the Starforest, not by a long-shot. In the history of Westeros both House Lannisters and House Gardener had tried again and again to subjugate Darkcliff and the only way to do that by land is either along the coast, a treacherous journey at best, or through the thick forest.

As they struggled along below him, Oliver thought that perhaps he was too hard on them. It was not like they were responsible for the actions of their ancestors and neither had they been the ones giving the order to attack his home. But they were doing it and he had no desire to just hand over his lands, his home, his live and that of everyone he loved. 

-

Roy of the House of Harper would have been a joke in the eyes of most noble houses. His father had left him and his mother when he had been a child and got himself killed in a drunken brawl, his mother had passed away from too much grief and too much wine. A young boy, last living member of an unimportant, poor house, an orphan, an angry little boy with the tendencies to lash out.

Oliver Queen, or Lord Queen as he preferred to call the man as it bothered him to no end, had taken him in and shown him the ropes of lordship, growing up and live in general. A ward he was called at first, then a squire, but he could never see Oli as anything else than a father. What was it with Lords of Darkcliff taking in lost souls and raising them as their own?

Roy smirked as he made his way through the underbrush of the pitch dark forest. He was a no one in the world of nobles, a young man barely called a knight and not even a good one at that. Yet he was about to kick the ass of some reach knights, their noses so high up in their air that rain would trickle through it into the hollow heads of theirs.

The fires of the camp, as much as it could be called a camp, had burned down and spend only partial lighting, but it was enough for accomplished marksmen. Marksmen like him and the others who had sneaked up on the unsuspecting knights. Roy nearly felt sorry for them. Nearly.

Then he let loose his first arrow and the first man died with his throat pierced.

-

Lord Tarly had send several groups of knights and soldiers to find a way around the heavy defenses of the coastal way, into the Starforest. Of course he knew of the nature of the woods, of the vigilant guardians of the borders led by the ancient house of Queen, known for their marksmanship and their mastery of stealth and their surroundings. He had hoped and prayed, though he would never admit that, for a bit of luck in this matter.

If the gods have heard him, they ignored him.

From the two thousend men send in, only four houndred made it through. If they had faced their enemies in open battle, like in the songs, they would have prevailed. Sadly for them, their enemies had no desire to give them an open battle.

Randyll Tarly, dissatisfied with the results, gave order to turn south, towards the Coastway that led into the heart of Darkcliff, the ruined city of Metropolia. He knew of course that there would be heavy defenses. But better the enemy you can see, than an enemy you can't.


	3. Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking in strays is a speciality of the noble houses of Darkcliff. And no one is better at that than Lord Bruce Wayne.

"Seven Hells, Bruce, you will take the boy, would hardly be the first stray you take in."

-

The first time he saw Gotham had also been the first time was away from the Iron Islands. Of course it was so far the only time, because he had since then not returned home, but that were details. Theon had been afraid and intimidated by all these new sights and strange people, dressed so unlike what he was used to and speaking in an unusual manner. Even the smell was so different.

Lord Wayne had been friendly enough, but Theon could never forget that he was ordered to take his head should his father ever step out of line again. A ward he was called, but he was a hostage in truth, a hostage for his father's good behaviour. His heir and last surviving son.

As the ship, a bulky war vessel heavier than anything the Ironborn used, docked, he could see and hear and smell the great city of Gotham, one of the biggest ports of Westeros. The harbor was filled with ships of different size and type, people of different heritage were mingling, business was made, the scent of fish and sea mixed with that of spices and exotic wares he had never even heard of before.

Somehow he was happy he had not been send North to Winterfell, like the King had first said, but here, to the south, to Gotham under the watchful eye of Lord Wayne. It had been the idea of the man himself to take him as a ward instead of Lord Stark, and Theon was silently thankful for that. Because he was sure he would freeze to death there and the cold eyes of the wolflord have scared him more than the deep, dark ones of Lord Wayne.

The ride through the city was uneventful and though Bruce Wayne made several attempts at conversation, he gave soon up and both just rode in silence, Theon on a shaggy pony, Wayne on a magnificient horse.

As they made their way through the streets Theon understood just how big the city really was. Several hundred thousand people lived here, the third biggest city of the realm, and everywhere he looked he could see new things he had not even thought of before. It was rather intimidating for a boy of ten.

Wayne Castle, the ancestral seat of house Wayne of course, was big, looming and had something threatening to look at, but the people were civil enough and Lady Wayne, a stunningly beautiful woman with black hair and a playful face, was not only nice but welcoming to him. Besides her only a small boy named Damian, not yet three name days old, was a member of the family, but there were several other boys about his age looking at him with interested looks.

-

"Guard up!"

Just in time Theon managed to get his training sword up to block the incoming blow and saved himself from a bloody nose, yet the clash of steel against steel rung through his arm and his whole body.

His muscles burned from the long training and he knew that it would be even more hours before he could finally take a break from the gureling process to catch a bit of sleep, before the entire procedure of lessons, training and tests would begin anew. Sure, he had a bit of time to himself or to spend with his friends, but on most evenings he just collapsed into his bed and slept as soon as his head met the pillow.

At first he had thought that Lord Wayne wanted to punish him for being the son of Balon Greyjoy, putting him through so much misery and pain disguised as training and lessons. He cried every night for weeks, wished himself home and even tried to escape once, only to be cought by Lady Wayne in a very embarrasing manner, before it was explained to him that what he had to go through was no punishment at all, but normal for Darkcliff.

True, the squires and wards of Bruce Wayne had to do more training than every other child from here, but in the end the whole region was obsessed with constant vigilance, training and betterment of oneself. It was this what made their border guards so deadly, what made their navy so skilled and their warriors so feared. Constant training and discipline and perhaps a bit of madness too.

"Move your feet more!"

But no matter how much it would help him in the long run, Theon still hated the master of arms at Wayne Castle for running him ragged nearly every day. Be it with the sword, axe, lance, even dagger or unarmed, Slade Wilson expected nothing short of absolute perfection and dedication. Only the training with the bow was halfway good, if only because he was skilled at it. But even that was horrible to experience, because as soon as Wilson had noticed that he was rather good with bow and arrow, he ordered him to shoot while standing on one leg or from the back of a horse or even hanging upside down.

While Theon dodged another blow from Wilson and rolled away with a grace of which he had not thought he would ever posess, he again cursed the man hacking away at him. And that was one of the good days. Then he was hit by a kick to the stomach and every breath was pushed out of his lungs.

-

Theon had always been second best at things, if even that. Always had his brothers been better than him at everything he achieved and when the two of them had died and he had been brought to Gotham, the proteges of Lord Wayne continued to show him up. Not that they ever tried, with the exception of that horrible brat Jason, but no matter how good he was with a sword or on a horse or with his letters, one of them had already mastered it. Not that anyone ever said it to him outright and everytime he succeeded Maester Alfred gave him a kind smile, but he knew none the less.

This however...

The waves crashing into the ship and throwing it around like a rag doll. The wind howling in his ears. His face sprayed with salty seawater, his hair wet and his whole body freezing. Yet he felt so alive, so free like he had never thought he could.

It didn't matter that it wasn't his ship to command, that he wasn't the one giving orders, that he was just a pessenger at this trip. Lord Arthur Curry, commander of the mighty fleet of Darkcliff, was the one calling the shots on the vessel and at the moment he was busy holding the helm, so he had no time for Theon. Not that it mattered, because Theon already knew, that he would learn everything there was about sailing.

His twelfth namedays old mind told him, that there was nothing better than sailing, with the wind in his ears and salt on his face. And it was nothing any of the other boys could do, none of Lord Waynes squires had ever learned to steer a boat or ship or to command a crew.

That would be his skill, his alone and no one could take it from him.

-

With fourteen he learned thet there was of course something better than sailing. It had been a fest in Wayne Castle, held to honor the seventh name day of Damian Wayne, who had so far been a small pest in the eyes of Theon. Not as much of a pest as Cassandra Cain, a ward of Lady Wayne, but a small terror none the less.

He would never understand how Lady Selina Wayne could ever love the son of her husband with another woman, but no one would have ever thought her anything else than Damian's mother, if people did not know it. But there were a lot of things he could not understand in Darkcliff, like the fact that women learned to fight with weapons if they wished and lords openly critisizing their liege, namely Lord Wayne.

There had been a tourney with Lord Wayne himself riding and it had been the first one Ser Richard Grayson, the former squire of Bruce, competing in. Theon could later not remember who had won, because all he had eyes for had been a maiden he had seen, a young woman he later learned was called Donna Troy. Raven black hair, beautiful eyes and a charming personality, so unlike ladies should actually be.

They had danced once and Theon memorised her smell, of wild flowers and scented oil, immediately.

She never even noticed him, not in the way he had hoped for, but she had been his first love. When he saw her smiling at Ser Grayson in a way she should not, at least in his mind, something broke in him. Later he knew that it had been silly and childish, but he had been unable to feel any other way.

When later that evening he felt brave from ale and a bit of wine he stole himself away into the stables, together with a giggling kitchen girl. It had been fast, sloppy and somehow hollow, but good at the same time.

-

With an heavy sigh, and an even heavier heart, Theon saw the stern face of Lord Wayne as he came into the mans solar. Nearly ten years he had spend by now in Darkcliff, most of the time under the scrutinizing eye of Bruce Wayne himself, or under the tutelage of Lord Curry. Once he had even visited Thermyscyla, the heavily fortified island of the Amazon Warriors, proud and strong warrior women who had kicked his ass after he had said the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was no good memory, not really.

Nearly half his live he had spend in these halls, had even began to call it his home despite being born not here but on the Iron Islands. He had learned with the squires and pupils of Lord Wayne, had fought and laughed with them, had even began to call them brothers, though only in his mind. And despite never saying it out loud, he could not help himself, but to think of Bruce Wayne as his father. What else would you call a man who would smile at your accomplishments, praise you for your hard work, help you getting up when you fell?

And now, all this would end. It was over.

For a few minutes he had thought about fleeing as soon as he had heard the news, but he did know, that he would have been cought. Jason had told him, had warned him, even urged him to go, to flee and to survive. Because there was only one way this could end. With his death.

But still... he recognized a useless battle when he saw one and fleeing from Gotham when everyone was on the watch for him, was such a battle. And even then, to where would he flee?

So he stepped into the solar of Bruce Wayne, fighting the tears in the corners of his eyes. "You have called for me, my Lord?"

Bruce looked at him with his dark, brodding eyes, before nodding. "Yes." He stood up and made his way around the table, holding a small parchment in hand. Theon did not need to read it to see what was written on it, he knew it already.

His father had attacked the North. Ironborn raiders were plaguing the Stoney Shore, had sacked Moat Cailin and even attacked Barrowton.

His life was forfeit.

Still he grabbed the piece of parchment, so hard that his knuckles became white, and asked with a toneless voice: "Am I aloud a last wish?"

"You would be", Lord Bruce answered, his dark eyes seeking those of Theon but not finding them, as the younger man was looking down, not willing to face the gaze of the man who was his father in everything but name. "But I will not execute you."

The young Ironborn looked up, opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again, unable to say anything. Yet his eyes were wide with surprise.

The shadow of a smile slid across the face of the Lord of Darkcliff. "Taking your head would serve no purpose any longer. The king who had ordered that is dead and the king demanding it is not a king I serve. However, I have a task for you. One that will be dangerous and perhaps even spell your doom."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes. Yes, you do have a choice", Bruce answered, banishing the smile from his face. "You can serve your father like nearly every man in the realm anticipates from you. Or you can throw your allegiance with House Greyjoy into the wind and be welcomed into my service. Or... well, the third choice is certainly the most dangerous one."

-

On the next day Theon stood on the bow of a small but agile ship, an old but sturdy vessel manned with cutthroats, mercenaries and pirates, hired by gold stolen from the money of Lord Waynes treasury. There was no shortness on such individuals in the harbor of Gotham and it had been easy to find men willing to throw any caution into the wind when enough money was paid.

He was sailing... home.

Back to the Iron Islands.

Already stories were told in the harbor taverns about how he had slipped from his cell with the help of a kitchen wench who had been foolishly in love with him. About how he had killed two guards with his bare hands and injured Ser Jason Todd who had tried to subjugate him, crippling him in the process. Most likely the former ward of Bruce Wayne would die from the wounds he had received in the fight.

"They already call you the Shark." He turned to the man who stepped up to him, a dangerous looking man who hid his appearance behind a red mask and a woolhood of a darker red. "Theon the Shark, the slippery hunter of the sea, with sharp teeth and the instincts of a killer."

Theon gave him a loopsided grin. "Well, though I am a kraken, a shark is still better than a trout. And obviously better than a Red Hood."

A snort was the only answer he got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon trained by the "goddamned" Batman. Ramsay, you're fucked.


End file.
